Kill Bill Vol 1: A Novelisation
by Ivan Alias
Summary: Let's see how much I can wreck this admired movie. If it should be removed, let me know.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I own nothing. QT has all the original ideas, and he sold it to whomever owns it. Not me.

Felt that this could be done, so I thought; why not?

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Prologue.

"Revenge is a dish best served cold."

Old Klingon Proverb

The sun. Burning the building to a bleached-out white on the outside, and glaring into the interior with a ferocious intensity.

The pools of blood slowly clotted and dried in the light, giving off an iron-rust smell. Bodies, strewn around like dirty clothes, were scattered on the floor. All dead. All murdered.

Except one...

Sunlight burned into the corners of her eyes and her forehead, and burning sweat trickled down her face into her eyes, stinging them mercilessly. Her breathing was laboured, each gasp a red-hot iron of pain.

Her bloody lips emitted a whimper of agony, but she was in too much pain to cry. Besides, she didn't want to give them the satisfaction of seeing her weep.

She half-shut her eyes, trying to twist them out of the way of the sun, and looked up, seeing all of them. Those who she once considered friends... The dull thumping of her blood in her ears seemed to grow louder, distracting her, and making her fell dizzy...

"Do you find me sadistic?"

It was a gravely voice, the voice of a man who had smoked too much, or had spoke too much, probably both. He stood just beside the sun, making him appear to be a black silhouette, nothing more. He kneeled down, and pulled out a small piece of cloth.

It rasped its way around her bruised face, wiping away the drying blood. The bride grunted in pain, trying to escape it.

"You know, I'll bet I could fry an egg on your head right now, if I wanted to..."

On and on he spoke, wiping her face with that pretentious cotton handkerchief. That gravely voice she had known for so long...

"You know, kiddo, I'd like to believe you're aware enough, even now, to know that there's nothing sadistic in my actions... well, maybe towards those other jokers, but not you."

His callused finger slowly traced her cheek, and he stood back up. The room span slowly, making her turn away in brief nausea, the sun still burning her broken body. There was the clicking sound of metal against leather, and the sun abruptly was blocked out. Her eyes widened, her breathing became more harsh and shallow.

"No, kiddo, at this moment, this is me at my most..." he trailed off, pursing his weathered lips momentarily. "...masochistic." There was the hollow, clanking sound of oiled metal as the hammer was pulled back.

Her lips, cracked and dry trembled. "Bill?"

He paused, the gun levelled at her head.

"It's your ba-"

He fired.

&&&&&&

Please R&R. If no-one seems interested, I'll withdraw it. If it attracts interest, goody gumdrops, more chapters will follow.

Next Chapter: Chapter 1: 2


	2. Chapter 1: 2

Disclaimer: Again, I don't own nothing, so logically, I own something. However, it's not Kill Bill, either volume. Those are Q.T's ideas.

Well, no flames so far, and a complementary review... There's some good in that somewhere.

By the by, any dialogue written in square brackets [like this] is supposed to be in a foreign language, in this case Japanese. If I had the time, I would actually write Japanese, but I have neither the software, nor training, and I don't think a lot of people would understand it.

Here we, a-here we, a-here we-here we go.

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Chapter 1: 2

The city of Pasadena, California

It was a stereotypical Californian suburb, the roads bordered with large oaks and ashes, a pattern of large houses with generous lawns. Blue jays sang in the trees with an unnerving jocularity. A newspaper boy went on his usual route. A late afternoon sun gave a golden-dappled appearance to the streets, giving a slight hint of summer turning to autumn, promising Thanksgiving to impatient children and to those who were even more impatient, Christmas.

There was the rumbling roar of a large engine, and a bright, neon-yellow truck slowly turned the corner. It crawled forward as the driver scanned the letterboxes out front of the houses. A letterbox with the name: 'The Bells', caught the drivers eye, and the truck stopped.

The Bride checked, then double-checked the sign. She looked down at a notebook she had, then checked her knife was in the sheath. She got out, and walked into the garden, meandering past sloppily discarded toys and playthings. She walked to the door, and slowly pushed the doorbell, turning back to the yard to look at all of the toys.

"Coming!"

The Bride turned back towards the door, slowly gripping and releasing her hands instinctively. There was the sound of rapid footsteps, and a slightly exasperated, but amused, voice.

"Sarah, I cannot believe you are early..."

The door opened, and Jeanne Bell opened the door with a smile, which quickly faded.

The Bride stared for a second...

&&&&&&

_The uppercut smashed home, and she felt her teeth chip and crack. She landed on her back, with a cry, trying to protect both her and her child. Blood entered her vision, but she could still see who had done this to her and her friends..._

&&&&&&

...then punched Bell solidly on the nose, sending her reeling back.

Bell stumbled back, and the Bride followed with a kick. Bell clumsily blocked it, allowing the Bride to smash the side of her head with a haymaker. She followed with another punch, expecting to burst Bell's eardrum with the next blow.

Bell grasped her arm, and then flung her into the wall behind them. A painting's frame stabbed into the small of her back, causing her to spin and fall onto a small dresser, landing on the exact same spot. She fell onto the carpeted floor, feeling snowflakes of glass spatter around her.

Bell twisted and brought the hell of her foot down towards the Bride's neck. She blocked it with both her wrists, feeling the bones judder under the blow. She replied with a kick to Bell's groin, causing her to fold up in pain. The next kick slammed into her face, sending her somersaulting over the sofa and through the glass coffee table.

Bell got up on her knees with a suppressed gasp of pain, looking at her bloody hands in agony. The Bride hurdled the couch, about to deliver the next blow, and Bell grabbed one of the table legs, slamming onto the Bride's knee.

She yelled in pain, but still managed to duck the next swing. Bell flung the leg at the Bride's head, who, in turn, grabbed it before it could split her skull open. She kicked up; slamming into Bell's stomach, then flipped her over her head.

Bell rolled and got onto her knees again. The Bride wrapped her arm around her neck, locking it behind her head with her other arm, closing off Bell's windpipe. Bell made a few clumsy punches at the arm strangling her. Sweat beaded on her head, mixing with the blood from her cuts, and her eyes bulged in her sockets. The Bride gritted her teeth and increased the pressure on her neck. Bell collapsed on the floor, choking and gasping, trying to writhe out of the iron grip.

Her hand flailed out, grapping a nearby poker, then flung it behind her blindly, gouging a chunk out of the Bride's shoulder, who let go with a yell, falling onto the floor. Bell stabbed downwards with the poker, which was promptly grabbed by the Bride. A kick knocked Bell back onto a glass bookcase. She quickly recovered, and pushed the bookcase back onto the Bride, running to the kitchen as she did so.

The Bride slowly got up, gashing her legs and arms on the panes of shattered glass, stood up unsteadily checking for any serious cuts. She sprinted into the kitchen, leaning backwards as she did so, just dodging the knife blade.

"What you gonna do now? Huh? What you got?" Bell yelled, swinging both arms, trying to distract the Bride, who picked up a frying pan, using it as small bracer.

"I got your ass! Remember that? Remember?"

The Bride blocked the next knife slash, which slid off the metal, cutting the side of her wrist and forearm mercilessly. She dropped the pan instinctively walking into a doorframe, then cringed, realising what she just did. The next few stabs she side stepped, but the doorframe blocked her movements.

She grabbed Bell's knife hand, twisting it. A kick to her midriff caused to her fall back onto a wooden table clumsily. Bell dived, grasping the butcher knife with both hands, aiming to drive it right into the Bride's heart.

However, she was no longer there.

The Bride grabbed the hilt of her own knife, and stabbed upwards, up through the wood, only an inch away from Bell's face. She kicked up, tipping the table over, sending Bell to the floor. Both got up simultaneously, Bell backing off into the living room, the Bride hopping over the table with a deadly finesse.

"Okay..." Bell whispered, holding her knife out, and making a 'come hither' gesture with her hand. "Come on, bitch."

The Bride changed her grip on the blade, and walked forward on the tip of her toes.

"Come on..."

Bell's feet crunched on the broken glass of the coffee table, and she back-heeled a table leg away from her feet. The Bride stepped forward as well.

"Bring it on..."

Bell lunged, and the Bride dodged back, making a counter-stab, which Bell easily dodged as well.

They both stared at each other, their eyes wreathed in anger and dulled with pain. The Bride jumped forward, but Bell avoided it and made another counter-attack. It did not connect with flesh.

The street outside still went about its usual business, ignoring the fact that two women were fighting to the death in a suburban living-room.

Another lunge, feint and dodge from both women, a switch of the grip by Bell.

There was the sound of a large vehicle slowing from outside, and Bell's eyes quickly leapt from the Bride to the sound. The Bride scanned it quickly, preparing for an attack from Bell. A yellow bus. A _school_ bus. And to Bell's mounting horror, a little girl with frizzy black hair and a pink coat started to walk up the path to the house.

Both women locked gazes again, and Bell shook her head, her eyes pleading silently.

The Bride's face twisted in anger and disgust, but she made the faintest ghost of a nod.

The door opened, and both women quickly hid their weapons and turned to face the little girl.

"Mommy, I'm ho-me!"

"Hey baby!" Bell gasped, blinking back sweat and pulling a wide smile. "How was school?"

The girl paused, her youthful complexion frowning in confusion and concern. "Mommy? What happened to you and the TV room?"

Bell quickly scanned the room, and cringed slightly at realising how much damage there actually was and trying to think of an excuse.

"Oh, that good-for-nothing dog of yours? Got his little ass in the living room and acted a damn fool." She smiled again, blood trickling down her face from her lip. "That's what happened, Baby." She said in what she thought was a reassuring tone.

The girl walked forward, a disbelieving tone in her voice. "Barney did this?"

"Now baby, you can't come in here." Bell held up a hand. "There's uh, broken glass everywhere, and... you could cut yourself."

The little girl slowly looked at the Bride with a perplexed expression.

The Bride cleared her throat. "Hi honey, I'm ------. What's your name?"

The girl still stared at her in mute incomprehension.

"Her name is Nikki." Bell answered.

"Nikki... such a pretty name for such a pretty girl..." She swallowed, and tried to smile disarmingly. "How old are ya, Nikki?"

Nikki stayed silent.

"Nikki... ------ asked you a question." Bell whispered, giving a maternal look of disapproval.

"I'm four." Nikki said slowly.

"Four years old, eh?" The Bride raised an eyebrow. "You know, _I_ had a little girl once." Her gaze turned to Bell, and her expression darkened. "She'd be about four now."

Bell bit her lip in what looked like shame, then she walked over to Nikki, keeping the knife from view. "Now, baby, me and Mommy's friend got some grownup talk to talk about, so you go in your room, and I want you to leave us alone 'til I tell you to come out. 'K?"

Nikki's gaze slowly left her mother and went back to the Bride's bloodied face.

"Nikkia!" Bell said sharply. "In your room. Now."

Nikki slowly stepped away, then, looking at both women, walked out of the room and up the stairs.

Bell let her knife arm come out from behind her back, and the Bride followed suit. There was an embarrassing silence.

"You want some coffee?" Bell asked out of the blue.

The Bride gave a faint smile. "Yeah, sure."

&&&&&&

_This Pasadena homemaker's name is Jeanne Bell. Her husband is Dr. Lawrence Bell. But back when we were acquainted, her name was Vernita Green. Her code name was Copperhead. Mine: Black Mamba._

&&&&&&

The Bride rubbed the gash which had opened her hand and arm, wincing in pain. "Do you have a towel?"

Vernita muttered an affirmative, handing her one. The Bride thanked her, then began wiping her face clear of sweat and blood.

"Still take cream and sugar, right?"

The Bride nodded, and Vernita walked back over to the coffee machine. "So... I suppose it's a little late for an apology, huh?"

"You suppose correctly."

Vernita walked back over to the Bride, glaring in fury. "Look, bitch." She pointed her finger angrily. "I need to know if you're going to start any more shit around my baby girl!"

"You can relax for now..." The Bride smiled, and lowered her voice condescendingly. "I'm not going to murder you in front of your daughter, okay?"

Vernita looked at her disbelievingly, but walked back towards the coffee machine, and started to pour out the drinks. "You must be more rational than Bill led me to believe you were capable of."

"It's mercy, compassion and forgiveness I lack. Not rationality."

Vernita handed the Bride's drink to her, and took her own cup. She paused, then; "I know I fucked you over. I fucked you over bad, I wish to God I hadn't, but I did. All I can tell you know is that I'm a different person."

The Bride made a parody of a relieved smile. "Oh, great." Her expression was quickly replaced with a scowl. "I don't care."

Vernita scowled. "Be that as it may, I know I don't deserve your mercy or your forgiveness. However," she walked over to a cork board, and ripped a photograph off of a tack, the little girl as a child, "I beseech you for both on behalf of _my daughter_."

A disbelieving smile formed on the Bride's face, and she shook her head faintly. "Bitch... you can stop right there." Vernita's gritted her teeth slightly. "Just because I have no wish to murder you before the eyes of your daughter does not mean that parading her around in front of me is going to inspire sympathy." She leaned forward. "You and I have unfinished business, and not a goddamn fuckin' thing you've done in the subsequent four years, including-" she raised a finger. "getting knocked up, is going to change that."

"You have every right to wanna get even-"

The Bride gave a small, short laugh. "Even? Even Steven? To do that, I would have to kill you... go up to Nikki's room, kill her... then wait for your husband, the good Dr. Bell to come home, and kill him." She looked at Vernita honestly. "That would be even, Vernita. That'd be about square."

Vernita leaned forward herself. "So, when do we do this?"

"It all depends. When do you want to die? Tomorrow? The day after tomorrow-"

"How 'bout tonight, bitch?"

"Splendid. Where?"

"There's a baseball diamond where I teach little league about a mile from here. We meet there around two-thirty in the morning, dressed all in black. Your hair in a black stocking." Vernita's voice lowered angrily. "We have us a knife-fight. We won't be bothered. Now-" she held up her finger, and the Bride flinched. Vernita smiled at that. "-I have to fix Nikki's cereal."

Vernita turned and grabbed a box of cereal, putting it down on the counter, then grabbed a bowl of the drying board, and got a little kiddie's spoon out of the cutlery drawer.

"Bill always said you were one of the best ladies he'd ever seen with an edged weapon."

Vernita smiled and rolled her eyes. "Fu-ck you bitch. I know he didn't qualify that shit, so you, can just kiss my motherfuckin' ass Black Mamba." She walked to the refrigerator, and grabbed a carton of milk. She snorted in private laughter. "Black Mamba, huh. I shoulda been motherfuckin' Black Mamba."

"Weapon of choice?" the Bride suggested. "Eh, if you want to stick with your butcher knife, that's fine with me."

Vernita laughed sonorously, her hand in the cereal box. "Very funny, bitch." She turned and smiled at the Bride.

The Bride gave a self-satisfied smile.

"That's very FUCKIN' FUNNY!-" Vernita twisted around, pointing the cereal box at the Bride. There was a bang, and the Bride felt the whistle of displaced air, and heard the shatter of the wall beside her. Her head twisted, saw the hole.

Her hands dropped the mug she was holding. Her foot leapt up, sending it hurtling towards Vernita who dodged it easily. Her hand flew to her knife and she threw it with unnerving accuracy.

The knife buried straight into Vernita's chest, puncturing her heart, smashing her against the cupboards. A slightly confused expression went across her face, then she fell to the floor. No last words, no requests, no apologises, nothing.

The Bride tilted her head to one side, then knelt beside the body, and pulled the blade out of its chest, then stood back up, slowly. A slight noise caught her attention, and she twisted around, her knife ready...

It was Nikki, standing forlornly in the doorway, her lips trembling.

The Bride, clenched her jaw, then grabbed a dishtowel, and began to wipe the knife clean.

"It wasn't my intention to do this in front of you, for that I apologise, but you can take my word for it-" she finished cleaning the blade, "your mother had it comin'."

She turned back towards the girl, who still hadn't started crying.

"When you grow up, if you still feel raw about it, I'll be waiting."

She stepped past the little girl, leaving her looking at the corpse of her mother.

&&&&&&

_[For those considered warriors, the vanquishing of thine enemy can be the warrior's only concern._

_This is the first and cardinal rule of combat._

_Suppress all human emotion and compassion; kill whoever stands in thy way, even if that be Lord God, or Buddha himself._

_This truth lies at the heart of all combat.]_


	3. Chapter 2: The BloodSplattered Bride

Disclaimer: Yep, you guessed it. Nada is owned by me. Du verstandt?

To my reviewers, all both of you:

Stayhooper: Yes, indeed. If only to see how long it is until I am chased off of this site with flaming pitchforks and sharpened torches. Wait a minute...

Ryan Lohner: Uh, thanks, but I must stress I am not a good writer. There are dozens of other people who have my amount of writing talent in their little finger.

So, here we are, Chappie 3:

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Chapter 3: The Blood-Splattered Bride

_Four years earlier in the city of El Paso, Texas..._

The sun was slowly descending towards the horizon, but it was still high enough to be aggravatingly warm. The highway leading to the city was abandoned, nothing on it but dust.

_Perfect driving conditions_ thought Sheriff Guthrie as he checked his watch. The call from his son had come in about ten minutes ago. Something about a multiple homicide, he didn't know. Normally he couldn't have given a shit about it, but his son was his son, so he decided to drive over, see what he could do.

The radio crackled a mixture of static and lonesome country music. Guthrie adjusted the radio dial, trying to clear out the crackling nonsense. A tinny voice with a drawn-out drawl introduced a piece of music, and a repetitive riff came up on the radio, followed by the unmistakable sound of Charlie Feather's voice.

Guthrie sighed, listened to it for a bit, then spat out of the window, ignoring the music as much he could. Thankfully, the church came into view up ahead. Guthrie stopped the car, put it into neutral, and looked up at the weather-beaten face of his boy.

"Well, give me the gory details, son number one."

His son shook his head. "It's a goddamn massacre, Pop." Guthrie got out of the car, and followed his son as they ambled towards the church. A nearby cop nodded at the two as they passed. "They wiped out the whole wedding party, execution style."

Guthrie shifted his jaw from side-to-side. _God, I need a smoke_ he thought bitterly. "Gimme a figure."

"Nine dead bodies, and we're talking the whole shebang." he son drawled. "Bride, Groom, Reverend, Reverend's wife..." He shook his head bitterly in disgust. "Hell, they even shot the ol' coloured fella that plays the organ."

Guthrie pulled a wry smirk. "T'would appear to me that somebody objected to this union, and weren't able to hold their peace."

The two men stepped in front of the church door, blocking out some of the harsh evening sun.

"Good gravy, Marie..." Guthrie muttered, then spat again. They walked in, their boots clunking against the pine floor distinctively.

"What did Ah tell you, Pop, like a goddamn Nicaraguan death squad..."

Guthrie reprimanded his son about the blasphemy, and his son apologised bashfully. He looked around again, observing the bodies, the bullet-holes, the dust-scuffs on the ground...

"Well, this is definitely the work of professionals... I'd guesstimate a Mexican Mafia hit squad... Four, maybe five strong..."

"How can yah tell?"

Guthrie sniffed and wiped his nose briefly. "Well, a sure and steady hand did this. This ain't no squirrelly amateur, no..." He pulled a faint grimace. "This is the work of a salty dawg..."

He walked forward, pointing out each object as he mentioned them. "You can tell by the cleanliness of the carnage. Now, a kill-crazy rampage though it may be, all the colours are kept inside the lines..." He shrugged faintly, wiping the frosting of sweat of his forehead. "Hell, if you was a moron, you could almost admire it..." he trailed off.

His rolling gait had taken him to the bloodied form of the bride. He knelt down, staring at her bruised face. He slipped off his sunglasses.

"Who's the bride?"

"Dunno. The name on th' marriage certificate is 'Arlene Machiavelli'." Guthrie's son snorted, then rolled his eyes comically. "That's a fake. We've been calling her 'The Bride' on the account of the dress."

Guthrie nodded. "You can tell she was pregnant..." He started, and then shook his head. "A man'd have to be a mad dog to shoot a goddamn good-looking gal like that in the head..." He leaned closer, his hand trailing a few loose strands of hair out of her face. "Look at her... Hay-coloured hair... Big eyes... She's a little blood-splattered angel..."

The Bride responded by spitting suddenly into Guthrie's eye.

Guthrie clenched his jaw, and sighed slowly. "Son number one?"

"Yup?"

"This tall drink of cocksucker ain't dead..."

&&&&&&

_Two weeks later, in the local hospital of El Paso..._

In comparison to the hot, dry days of naught but a fortnight ago, the weather had turned dark and tempestuous. Rain spattered against windows, and the wind howled around corners.

In the comatose ward, nick-named the 'Raimi' ward, laid the Bride, her skin clear of blood and pinkish from the healed bruises. She was in a deep coma, with no response to any outside occurrence.

Down in the lobby, the doors opened, and a brief shower of rain fell in, accompanied by a tall, blonde woman. The woman wore a long, beige coat with matching trousers, which had all the creases, stitches, pockets and buttons drawn on, and held a long, knife-like, red umbrella. She strode in, whistling an eerie tune, her lips curved into a perfect 'o' and her heels clicking in time with the tune.

She slowly walked up to the Bride's ward, fixing any curious employees with a contemptuous glare. As she was just outside from the Bride's ward, she turned and walked into the ladies bathroom.

She got into a cubicle, and locked the door. Her handbag was opened with a click, and nurse-white clothing came out, followed by a bottle of clear, red liquid and some hospital equipment. A quick change of clothes was done silently, a small nurses cap placed daintily on top of her head, a syringe extracted a small volume of the liquid and last but not least...

...a new, red-cross eye patch was worn.

The woman walked out of the bathroom, her new shoes squeaking silently against the linoleum. She turned and peered through the window in the door, saw the Bride, and smiled.

_Name: Elle Driver_

_Member of: Deadly Viper Assassination Squad (DiVAS)_

_Codename: California Mountain Snake_

Elle opened the door and walked towards the Bride's gurney. She delicately placed the hospital tray with the needle of poison on the bedside cabinet, and then leaned over, placing her fingers over the Bride's nose. She felt the warm breath against her skin, and smiled once again. She leaned back.

"I might never have liked you..."

She rolled her eye and snorted. "...point in fact, I despise you." She raised a finger. "But that shouldn't suggest that I don't respect you." Elle pulled the rubber cover off of the needle, and placed it into the Bride's IV tube.

"Dying in our sleep, is a luxury our kind is rarely afforded." She placed her thumb over the plunger. "My gift, to you..."

Her phone rang, scaring the beejesus out of her.

"Oh, for fuck's sake..." Elle muttered pulling her phone out, opening it and raising the antennae. "Hello, Bill." She said in a sickly sweet voice.

"What's her condition?"

"Comatose..."

"Where is she?"

"I'm standing over her right now."

"That's my girl."

Elle giggled daintily.

There was a cough, then; "Elle, you're going to abort the mission."

"WHAT?!"

"We owe her better than that."

"OH, YOU DON'T OWE HER SHIT!" Elle yelled.

"Will you keep you're voice down?"

"_oh, you don't owe her shit!_" Elle hissed.

"May I say one thing?"

Elle accepted the request silently.

"Y'all beat the hell outta that woman, _but_, you didn't kill her. I put a bullet in her head, but her heart jes'... kept on beating." A pause. "Now, you saw that with your own, beautiful blue eye, did you not?"

Elle sighed miserably.

"We've done a lot of things to this lady. And if she ever wakes up, we'll do a whole lot more. But one thing we won't do, is sneak into her room in the night, like a filthy rat, and murder her in her sleep. And the reason we won't do that thing is because..." The voice went cold. "...that thing would lower us. Don't you agree, Miss Driver?"

"I guess..." She muttered sadly.

"Do you really have to guess?"

"No..." She sighed, sounding like a penitent schoolgirl. "I don't really have to guess. I know."

"Come on home, honey."

Elle whispered goodbye, and shut the phone venomously, then walked back to the Bride's gurney. "I bet you thought that was pretty fuckin' funny, didn't you?" Her face darkened, and her lips twisted into a scowl. "Word of advice, shithead. Don't. You. Ever. Wake. Up."

&&&&&&

_4 years later, in the local hospital of El Paso, Texas..._

Time had passed, people were born, people had died. Businesses had risen and fallen, fortunes made and lost. The world had changed everywhere but in the 'Raimi' ward of the El Paso hospital, where only the hushed _hsss-thumps!_ of breathing apparatus punctured the cloying silence.

The mosquito flew through the air, her wings making her distinct and highly annoying whine. She circled the room, choosing her next host at a leisurely pace. She alighted on the pale flesh of the Bride's arm, and stuck her proboscis into the vein pulsing slightly near the surface.

The mosquito injected the anti-clotting chemical into the bloodstream, preventing a scab from forming. Blood began to flow from the vein into her stomach as she began to feed.

The Bride's hand slammed down on the insect as she sat up with a hollow cry. Her throat was dry, her skin clammy, where was she? She wa-

"_No, kiddo, at this moment, this is me at my most..." he trailed off, pursing his weathered lips momentarily. "...masochistic." There was the hollow, clanking sound of oiled metal as the hammer was pulled back._

_Her lips, cracked and dry trembled. "Bill?"_

_He paused, the gun levelled at her head._

"_It's your ba-"_

_The trigger was pulled, and the hammer fell upon the firing cap of the bullet. There was the spark, which propelled the slug through the barrel, spinning slowly from the hair-thin grooves on the inside of the gun, before spitting out of the pistol, haloed by a fiery wreath..._

She yelled in shock, clutching her hand to the side of her head, then paused. Slowly, she moved her head to her temple, touching it lightly. There was a dull 'thunk' as her fingers rebounded off of the steel plate. Her face twisted into disgust, marred with disbelief, then despair...

Her hands grasped her stomach, and then lifted her gown up slowly, revealing a jagged scar. Her breathing slowed, becoming more ragged, and her eyes became watery.

Then she screamed, in an ear-twisting cocktail of anger, horror and denial.

"My baby..." Her voice was a tear-thickened whisper, not the usual harsh snap it was. "They took my baby..."

She held her hands out in front of her face, looking at the lines of her palms. The distinctive whorls and lines of her palms giving her irrefutable evidence of how long it had been.

"Four years." She whispered. "Four years..." Her eyes clenched, tears squeezing out and trickling down her reddened face.

A whistling, and the sound of footsteps.

She put aside her sorrow, and began to think, her mind racing for a solution. The footsteps became louder, and now she could detect two pairs of feet...

She slammed herself back down on the bed just as the door opened. Two men entered, one a nurse, another some type of trucker-type person.

"The price is seventy-five dollars a fuck my friend..." The nurse started, and the Bride knew that this was not going to be a good way to wake up.

Her mind was racing. She had been in some sort of a coma for four years. She knew her husband was dead, along with everyone else at her wedding, and then she recalled what happened.

DiVAS.

Five members; Vernita Green, Elle Driver, O-Ren Ishii, Budd and...

_Bill._

They were responsible. Responsible for killing nine people at her wedding, responsible for her child, and responsible for her losing four years of her life.

She knew, in that instant, that nothing but cold-blooded revenge would sate her. Nothing else.

But what to do now...?

The two men had stopped talking, and she felt the weight of an extra person on her gurney. The man chuckled, muttering to himself about her appearance, and then stuck his tongue in her mouth.

Whereupon she ate it.

&&&&&&

She must've fainted after that, because when she opened her eyes, the man was lying on top of her, rapidly cooling, his blood pouring out of his mouth like a cheap special-effect. She pushed the corpse off, and washed her face clean using a nearby water bottle, gagging at the aftertaste of flesh and blood.

Whistling.

She hurdled off of the gurney, landing on her feet. However, her legs, after four years of atrophy, rebelled under her weight, and collapsed, sending her down onto the linoleum with a harsh crash.

Footsteps with the whistling, getting closer.

She reached over to the dead man's belt, pulling out a small flick-knife and opening it with a practised ease.

The footsteps, getting closer...

Buck walked over to the door, and knocked on it sharply. "Hey, bud! Time's up! Coming in, ready or not!" He opened the door, a smirk firmly on his face. "Did you have a good time?"

His eyes widened as he saw the trucker sprawled against the floor, and the gurney empty.

"Hol-"

The Bride lashed out from behind him, the blade splitting his heel open with a snapping sound. Buck collapsed with a sharp cry, landing harshly on his head, splitting his head open.

He was being pulled over to the door. Had someone seen him fall and was taking him to a doctor? What had happened to Warren...?

He stopped at the doorway, and the blonde-haired chick, the one who was in a coma, came into view. He tried to open his mouth, but only made a slight mumbling sound.

The woman responded by smashing the door against his head. His head rang from the blow. Her mouth moved, but he couldn't make out what she said. Again the door slammed on his head.

"Please stop hitting me..." he muttered, trying to raise his hands to defend himself, but his arms seemed all rubbery.

"-ere's Bill!" The voice came into hearing, along with the sharp, doubled pain, as she smashed the door yet again into his head.

"I dunno..." Buck mumbled.

"Bullshit!" The woman yelled, reached for the door again, then noted the writing on Buck's hand...

"_Well, ain't you the slice of cutie-pie they all said you wuz..."_

"..._Well, I'm from Hudson, Texas. My name'z Buck." A self-satisfied chuckle. "And I came here to fuckz..."_

The Bride looked back at Buck, and her eyes darkened with withheld anger. "You're name is Buck, right?" She asked quietly.

The sprawling man gave something which looked like a nod.

"And you came here to fuck." She leaned over him and glared. "Right?"

The man began to panic, trying to make an excuse, and that was all the Bride needed.

The door slammed again, shattering his neck in two. His feet jerked in a death rattle, and the Bride levered herself off of the floor. She looked down the corridor. Nobody had seen her. Good.

A quick pick-pocketing later, and a set of car keys were in her hand. She looked at the key ring, and a look of disbelief crossed her face.

"'Pussywagon?'" She read out loud, and then turned to the corpse. "You _fucker..._"

The door slammed on the corpse's neck, breaking it again. The Bride caught her breath, thinking for a while on what to do next.

&&&&&&

The elevator doors opened with a pleasant chime and the Bride rolled out on a wheelchair, dressed in the blue scrubs of - the thankfully late – Buck.

She forced the wheels to move faster, but her head was spinning. There were hundreds of cars here. "Hudson, Texas... okay..."

She repeated it over and over, looking for the car. At least a dozen were from Texas. Which one was i-

She stopped the wheelchair with a jerk at the sight before her, then sat back, a look of disgust on her face.

In front of her was the most distastefully yellow, ugliest looking car she had ever laid her eyes upon. And on the back, in neon-pink letters; 'The Pussy Wagon.' She sighed, and took out the key ring. The lettering was exactly the same.

She smiled briefly. At least _this_ was easier then she could have hoped for...

&&&&&&

The door to the truck opened widely, scraping into the next car. The Bride wheeled the chair as far as it could go, then slowly began pushing herself off of the chair. The wheels wobbled violently, nearly throwing her onto the tarmac-

She half-jumped half-fell into the truck, grabbing onto the red-leather headrest of the driver's seat. The wheelchair rolled away with a crash, and the Bride fell onto the back seats.

Her feet still hung out of the door.

Grunting and grumbling, she grabbed the nearest handles she could reach, and pulled. Her body moved about two inches. Again she pulled, until it felt as if she was dislocating her arms. Her feet caught on the edge of the seat. One more time, sweat running down her face, and they fell in.

She lent back against the door, trying to catch her breath, sweat running into her eyes, rubbing them red-raw. She waited for a bit, then reached over quickly and shut the door.

The windows thankfully were tinted, so she was safe, for now. She reached over, trying to rub some life into her legs, as if they had just fallen asleep, then tried to pull her knees up. She would have had more success trying to have gone back in time to save Kennedy. Her legs refused to answer. She rubbed them again, then attempted to move them.

Nothing happened.

She looked down at her legs steadily, and then calmed herself, taking a few gulps of air. "Wiggle your big toe."

Even her toes refused to obey her.

"Wiggle your big toe."

They were as unresponsive as the first time.

She tented her fingers, and pulled a wry face. This could take some time...

"Wiggle your big toe."

"Wiggle your big toe."

"Wiggle your big toe..."

_As I lay in the back of Buck's truck, trying to will my limbs out of entropy..._

"Wiggle your big toe..."

_I could see the faces of the cunts who did this to me. And the dicks responsible. Members all of the Deadly Viper Assassination Squad._

All of their hated faces, Vernita, Elle, O-Ren and Budd swam into her view, standing over her beaten body, some remorseful, some gloating, but all victorious...

_When fortune smiles on something as violent as revenge, it seems proof like no other, that not only does God exist, you're doing his will._

One of the faces swam back into view. A small, round face with almond skin dotted faintly with freckles, black eyes and curled, black hair.

_At a time when I knew least about my enemies, the first name on my death list, O-Ren Ishii, was the easiest to find. But of course, when one manages the difficult task of becoming Queen of the Tokyo underground, one doesn't keep it a secret, does one?_

_Name: O-Ren Ishii_

_Member of: Deadly Viper Assassination Squad (DiVAS)_

_Codename: Cottonmouth_


End file.
